


After The Fight

by aegicheezu



Category: The Mighty Boosh (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-12-01 07:10:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11481285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aegicheezu/pseuds/aegicheezu
Summary: after Howard defeats the Killeroo, the boys think back on all their shared time together. Fluffy.





	After The Fight

“Howard, you did it! You got ‘im!” Vince excitedly cried out. “The Killeroo’s out cold!” There was an unmaskable worry in his voice, though, as he knelt over Howard’s bloody and bruised body in the ring. Jesus, he thought, he’s in bad shape. It’s my fault, isn’t it. 

“Vin… Vince…” Howard stuttered, a thin trickle of blood creeping from the corner of his mouth, “I did it, didn’t I…” 

“Yeah ‘oward you got him.” Vince smiled warmly back at him, even though the other’s eyes were closed and heavy with bruises already forming. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” He hoisted Howard carefully up and leaned him against his own shoulder. 

The crowd cheered, and made a path for the two men. 

 

***

Back in the quiet of their shed, it was time for Vince to play doctor to a very woozy Howard, blinking hard to stay awake where he sat upright in a chair as Vince attempted to clean and bandage him up. 

“That was really stupid,” Vince said under his breath, “why did I let you do it?”

“Hmm?” Howard questioned. “What do you mean?”

“Look at the state of you Howard,” he explained. “None of this would have happened if I didn’t think I could train you up.” His voice turned soft and serious.

“Hey now, Little Man. Hey.” Howard replied, “I got the ‘roo in the end, didn’t I?” he cracked a smile. 

“Yeah, but look at you.”

“What, this?” Howard motioned to his bruises and scrapes. “Maybe now my face will have some character and you could properly paint me, yeah,” he said, wryly. 

“Aww, you’re not still sore about the portrait I did of you a while back, are you?” Vince continued to pat Howard’s arm gently with a cotton swab and antiseptic. Howard hissed involuntarily in pain. “Come on now, ya big strong man. Surely it’s not that bad.” He smiled at Howard. 

“It is!” Howard shot back, jokingly. He allowed himself to laugh a little. 

“So…” Vince started after a few minutes of easy silence. “So you’re not cross with me?”

“Why would I be?”

“You’re not mad at me that I didn’t train you up properly? That I convinced you that you were ready?”

Howard thought for a moment. “Nah,” he said. “I couldn’t be cross with you, Little Man.” He smiled and patted Vince’s shoulder. “Besides, look at you playing doctor with me.”

Vince tried to ignore the way his heart sped up when Howard smiled at him just then. Shit, he thought. 

 

***

 

Howard suddenly remembered. 

Years ago, when they were still at school, there had been an incident - Vince was being picked on because he refused to wear school-appropriate shoes (he’d spray-painted his black lace-ups to a very metallic silver) and the other boys delighted in calling him a poof. They were only boys then, and thankfully hadn’t learned some of the harsher words just yet. It was during their lunch break, in the school yard; Howard had gone in to use the washroom, and come out to see poor Vince, bracing himself against the brick wall, fruitlessly dabbing at his face, now puffy with bruises. His feet were bare. 

“Vince! What happened?”

“They took my shoes, ‘oward,” he sniffled. His lip was cut and bleeding a little. Howard hugged Vince tight, but careful not to hurt him. “What am I gonna do without my shoes? I’ll get in trouble!”

“Where are they now? The bullies?” Howard asked, suddenly angry. I’ll protect you, Vince, he thought. 

“Over there, they’re laughing at me.” He sniffled again. 

“Wait here.” 

“Howard, no!”

“Hold on.” 

A brave Howard marched over to where the boys stood, hunched over Vince’s silver shoes, poking at them with sticks. 

“Oi, you lot!” He shouted, puffing his chest out.

“What d’you want, poof?” the boys cackled. “here to defend your girlfriend?”

“Vince ain’t my girlfriend, he’s my best friend!” Howard was a good few inches shorter than these boys (who must have been in the year ahead) but he squared up to them as bravely as he could. 

Of course, that didn’t end well for Howard. 

By the time the bell rang to signal the end of their lunch break, both Howard and Vince could be found leaning against the brick wall of the school building, black eyes forming on their young faces. 

“Thanks for trying, Howard.” Vince said, softly. “That was cool.”

“I wish they were dead,” Howard replied coldly. “People who hurt other people should all just die.”

“What am I gonna do about my shoes?”

“Just tell the teacher what happened, and she won’t phone your mum.”

“No,” Vince corrected him, “I mean, the silver coating took me ages! I’m gonna have to make a whole new pair now and I don’t have any allowance saved up for more silver paint.”

The boys laughed. 

 

Howard found himself smiling at the memory. He glanced over where Vince sat, sleeping upright in his chair. Been through a lot, haven’t we, Little Man? He thought. Howard examined the bandages he now wore. Vince had done a good job; though, he was now beginning to feel the soreness creep into his muscles. I’ve always been overly fond of you, haven’t I, he mused. Now look at us. A failed jazz musician and an electro candy-floss boy working in a zoo fighting giant kangaroos. You couldn’t make that stuff up. 

“I love you, Little Man.” Howard heard himself whisper. Where did that come from? He thought. 

Wherever it came from, he wasn’t sure he minded. 

 

***

 

The next morning, Vince helped Howard clean and change his many bandages. 

“Howard,” Vince began, focused intently on swabbing the still-open wounds with antiseptic, “D’you remember when we was kids at school and you tried to beat up the boys in Year 9 for stealing my silver shoes?”

Howard laughed. “Yeah, actually. I thought about that yesterday.” He shook his head. “Guess I’ve always been a rubbish fighter.”

“You’re more of a bleeder.” Vince laughed. 

“Indeed I am, apparently.” 

“Anyway Howard,” Vince continued, “thanks for all that, back then. You made me feel like less of a freak.”

“What’s brought this on, Little Man?” Howard asked, softly. “Look at you now!” Smiling, he added, “and you’ve got more pairs of silver boots than anyone I know, anyway.”

“That’s true.” Vince smiled back. “And I’ve still got you, haven’t I.”

“Indeed you have.” 

A moment passed. 

“I love you too, you know.”

Howard suppressed a gasp. “You what?”

“I heard you last night.” Vince explained. “I love you too.”

“Ah.”

“That’s alright, innit?” Vince suddenly sounded unsure of himself. He looked at Howard, searchingly. “I haven’t just ruined everything, have I?”

“No, you haven’t,” Howard assured him, drawing Vince close. “I do love you, Vince Noir.”

 

A soft kiss.


End file.
